


Ivory

by aseriesofessays



Series: Ivory and Blood [1]
Category: Heathers (1988), Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Alternate Universe - Vampire, F/F, Reincarnation, Vampires, uhhhhh my only explanation?? im gay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-02
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-12-10 05:03:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11684655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aseriesofessays/pseuds/aseriesofessays
Summary: Heather regards her with careful, ancient eyes. "I am a dead, mad thing, and I have lived so very long. Why do I know you? Why have I known you so many times?"





	Ivory

**Author's Note:**

> hmm okay i haven't written in a while but i sure did have a hankering for scary bitey girls so here's..... this

It's not linear.

They've come back thousands of times, a thousand different people in a thousand different ages. Veronica remembers the first- a high school and blue drain cleaner on red lips- she remembers how it felt when she'd died. Knives twisting in her soul.

They always come back.

And- and Veronica knows, somehow, every time. She's a pretty girl in sloppy clothes and god, when Heather walks into the room her heart stops.

Every time.

Every time those red lips, and every time her hair tied back- up, curled, escaping wildly and twisting in the wind- with that red bow.

So many stories.

- _v_ -

College sucks ass, Veronica decides eloquently, slaving (slaving!) over her research analysis for trigonometry, of all things. It's her senior year (one of hundreds) and she knows all the tricks- brewing her coffee with redbull instead of water, screaming inside her head instead of out loud so her throat won't be sore- but jesus fuck, she's exhausted. She's pretty sure the last time she'd had a full 8 hours of sleep she'd been, like, twelve, and-

She's so fucking tired.

And she's out of coffee.

And- and, okay, she misses Chandler, and how many times has she met her in a coffee shop? It's _up there_ , probably, as a barista or bitchy customer or some dumb fuck who doesn't look where she's going and gets coffee spilled down her pretty blouse.

Veronica misses that dumb fuck. (And she's out of coffee. And she has that stupid trig paper.)

It's past midnight, Veronica's pretty sure, and the streets are dead quiet. She's not overly concerned, considering the pepper spray in her pocket and also the circles under her eyes most likely indicate a temporary disregard for the moral toll homicide might normally take on someone barely twenty- whichever the reason, people leave her alone, and-

Something moves in the shadows of an alleyway.

Something moves in the shadows of an alleyway, and Veronica whips her head around so fast she thinks she pulls something because what moves is _red_.

And she's lived hundreds and thousands of lives, but- she doesn't think monsters are real, are they? Maybe she's a monster, maybe Chandler's a monster, because they've come back again and again and again, but _this_ -

The girl in the alleyway- the _thing_ in the alleyway- is so, so chalky paper pale she looks sick, she looks _dead_ , and through her pounding heart Veronica hears another hiss, and her tangled hair is pulled back in a bow.

"What the fuck," she's able to manage, very softly. The thing lets out something like a confused whimper and Veronica feels herself mimic it because there's no doubt that _this_  is Heather, whatever the hell it is. She hurries into the alleyway, fighting every instinct she has, and stares.

The thing is so deathly white it glows in the dark, practically, and its lips are bloody red and its eyes are dark and oh _god_ , what the fuck? It recoils when Veronica approaches, plastering its skinny, small form against the wall and showing fangs when it warns her back, and Veronica whimpers again.

"Heather," she says, quiet and desperate and terrified. "Heather, oh my god, we have to- come back with me to my room, okay? We can talk."

And it- _she_ \- trails her to her dorm room, trotting after her like the creepiest fucking puppy in the world while Veronica does her very best not to puke.

- _v_ -

It's the weirdest thing in the fucking world to see Heather curled up small on her polka dot comforter- it feels like she trapped something wild inside, something ancient, and she has to remind herself it's just Heather. They've fought each other, in battles and at fucking high school, and they've fucked and kissed and made love and been in love. Heather is Heather is Heather whether she's a warrior or just a girl or-

Whatever the fuck this is.

"What the fuck are you?" she asks, voice weaker than she would have liked- the thing on her bed ( _Heather_ ) startles up, glaring at Veronica with eyes that are so black and big Veronica shudders.

"You're human," it says, voice so old Veronica feels a little ill. "Human. Why do I know you?"

"What are you?" she repeats, not stepping closer but not moving away, either. She thinks her bravery should be recognized by _someone_ , or whatever- like, this thing should clap?- but nothing happens. It just blinks at her, and she takes a breath, and it's gone.

- _-_ -

It takes a lot of deep breathing and soft, muffled screams into her pillows and, okay, a tiny bit of bashing her head against the wall before she steals herself to go and _find_  Heather. Seeking out a monster isn't in her job description, so she almost says fuck it, but that monster is Heather and there'd been something broken in those black, soulless eyes.

(Oh, god, it's creepy as fuck. She'd had five nightmares already about the thing and it's only been three very stressful days.)

Turns out it's not hard at all to find it- she just walks on jello legs to where she last saw it, waits a bit, then nearly jumps out of her skin when she notices the thing blending into the walls. She's not sure how long it's been there- probably the entire time, which is fucking ridiculous, with its fucking blinding skin and red-

Red lips. Red lips, glittering dully in the streetlights.

"Who are you?" she says, and her voice sounds bloody. Veronica swallows, hard.

"Veronica. Sawyer." It's painfully reminiscent of the very first time they met, and her mouth goes dry. She swallows again, fights off the urge to giggle with little success.

It- she- _Heather_ \- just blinks at her. Veronica cuts off with a sort of dry, choked off lurch, smoothing her shirt down- god, she's so creepy, with her chalk skin and- her lips are so red. There's red on her clothes, too, but it's dry and rusty. Veronica doesn't want to think about what it is, so she doesn't.

"I know you," Heather repeats softly, then: "Come."

Veronica's eyes widen, and she hardly gets out a squeak of protest before she's being picked up like she weighs less then a feather and then, seconds later-

Deposited into her own bed?

She whimpers. Oh, right, she'd let that thing into her room, hadn't she? She knows where she lives. (Which is fine, because it's Heather, but definitely not fine because there's definitely blood on her clothes. Which she's not thinking about.)

"What are you?" She's shocked to hear her own voice, because her throat's tight and working over a ball of what feels like terrified phlegm, but Heather cocks her head and looks at her and smiles that small, bloody smile.

"Dead," she says eventually, and Veronica's heart stutters in her chest. Heather regards her with careful, ancient eyes. "I am a dead, mad thing, and I have lived so very long. Why do I know you? Why have I known you so many times?"

"We've- Heather, it's me," she says, so soft her voice trembles. "Do you remember? We've been born- god, thousands of times. I don't understand why-" They're always the same age, or nearabouts, but Heather had said she was old and she looks it, too. Smooth skin but eyes that tell of centuries.

Heather lifts her upper lip- Veronica flinches back despite herself. Her teeth are as white as her skin, glistening and _jagged_. Heather smiles again, her eyes unblinking. "I am a bloodeater," she says, very softly, tilting her head to the side. "And there is ice in my veins."

Despite herself, Veronica giggles again. It's hollow. "Oh, god, Heather," she says, desperately. "Oh, god, how old are you? Do you remember our lives- fucking- any of them. Any."

Her black eyes unfocus. "We were children together," she mumbles, sitting down, and her mood changes so fast Veronica's dizzy. "We danced. I burned from the inside."

Of course she remembers the one fucking time Veronica had killed her. "Okay, uh- what about that time we were in love and fucked a lot?" she tries, scratching her neck. "That was fun! You were super alive, and, uh- super not a vampire, also-" This is fucked up. She half wants to kill herself so she can wake up the next time and everything will be normal, and Heather won't be dead but talking.

Heather leans into her bed, so close to Veronica that she has to force herself not to flinch, and shivers. "I don't understand," she murmurs, sounding lost. "Why are you so warm? I touch you and you feel alive."

"I am alive," Veronica says softly, squeezing her nails into her palms. "Heather, honey-" She swallows the lump in her throat- Heather sounds so young and so old and so scared, and Veronica wants to cry. It's so confusing. She doesn't understand. "Heather, honey, can you- tell me everything. Please."

There's so much to tell.

- _h_ -

Heather's never met someone like this human- except she has, a hundred times before. Every line on her face is as familiar as if she'd painted it, the dark of her skin like the night she lives in and the sharpness in her eyes piercing and habitual as if she sees it every day of her life. It aches so sweetly to find home thousands of years away from when she'd left it, and she wants to tuck herself close to this _Veronica_ and never even come up to drink.

But she looks so scared. Heather hasn't looked a human in the eye for so long- she takes what she needs and doesn't blink, because blood is blood from a whore or from a politician- but Veronica smells sweet and terrified and her eyes are so very familiar.

She tells her about her life, as much as she remembers- waking up and being _this_ , then making her way through the rest of it. She tells her how her head's scattered and messy and she can't keep thoughts down just like she sometimes can't keep blood down, and she tells her how she's older than everyone else in the world and how she doesn't think anyone's meant to live this long. She's sniffling by the end of it even though she doesn't think she's able to cry anymore- it's been hundreds of years since the last time, and her voice breaks when she starts to talk about what she thinks was before.

Like, the beach she kissed Veronica on- except that Veronica looked different, had long, straight hair and freckles on her shoulders. She reaches up to touch this one, forgetting for a second that they're here and she's dead and Veronica is scared of her, and when she doesn't move away she slumps like a puppet with its strings cut and starts to cry.

- _v_ - 

It's not right to see something this ~~terrifying~~ ~~mad~~ beautiful cry.

**Author's Note:**

> proofreading? who is she 
> 
> also my tumblr is ilovemydeadgaywife.tumblr.com if u want to send me prompts or feedback or ur hatemail xoxo


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